Climb
by Starla
Summary: Post-Shanshu, Buffy goes to Angel for help. (B/A, A/Other) (Updated with p. 8 & 9 - 18/7/02)
1. Chapter One

Title: Climb 1/? (B/A, A/Other)   
Author: Starla (throwmywalrus@bored.com, fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com)   
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and buds own the rights to this stuff.   
Distribution: If you have my stuff, take it....Rae, Freda, Cav, LoD.....I can't list them all. I'm lazy. Just take it.   
Summary: Buffy goes to Angel, who is living a regular human life, for help. Unless otherwise indicated, Buffy POV   
Timeline: Splits off from BtVS at the end of s4, though some s5 events still happened.   
Author's Notes: I had a *minor* (MAJOR) dilemma with this fic. It was 3/4 done when all the text just...disappeared. And *yes* I tried clicking undo. So I've written it again. And it isn't as good.   
Feedback: I *need* it. With all the stress this fic has put me through, I just want some confirmtion that it was worth it. Please?   
Dedication: To bulletproof, for the emotional trauma this fic has been putting her through, Cav, for nudging me along in the beginning, and not being afraid to tell me I suck, and Lisa, for taking up beta duties halfway through. Lub yas.   
  
  
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Part One  
*^*^*  
I didn't know how long I'd been standing there. I could feel the wind whipping around me, over me, through my hair, which I'd grown longer and longer until I couldn't stand it anymore. About a month earlier, I'd had it all chopped off, leaving a simple, clear, elegant shoulder length cut. It was more /me/. A warrior's haircut, designed for unimpeded movement and grace, but also the ability to hold up an extra stake. Sounds glamourous, huh?   
  
I bit my lip as I stared at the door. It was cold, but that wasn't why I couldn't move. It wasn't why I was frozen with my hand, curled into a fist, raised halfway to the door. No, not the cold.   
  
Frozen by fear.   
  
That's right. Me,the Slayer, the Chosen One, Champion of Light and Saviour of the World, was frozen in fear by the thought of seeing my former lover.   
  
I was about to do something that I'd promised myself I would never do again.   
  
I was running to Angel for help. Seeking comfort and refuge through him. With him. In him.   
  
It wasn't something I wanted to do, but I'd come to a point where I had no other choice. It had been so long since we'd seen each other... I was bursting with curiousity, longing to know about him and his new life....as a human. Angel, human, it boggled the mind.   
  
In the three years since his sushi...shanshu, whatever, I hadn't seen him, hadn't spoken to him. I'd had no contact with him in five years. I'd wondered about him, of course. Fantasized about his life as a human. I wondered whether he missed me, whether he ever thought about me.   
  
And here's where the earth-shattering, bone-rattling fear came in.   
  
On the flipside of my curiousity, was my dread. I worried that he would turn me away, thus confirming for me, the *end* of *us*.   
  
At least where I stood now, alone and apart from him, but unknowing, I could have my dreams, and almost believe that they were true.   
  
But if he rejected me like that, then there was no going back. Back would be a no-go. I'd be jolted back into the harsh reality of emptiness and loneliness that my life had become. There would be no refuge, and no escape.   
  
As it was, I virtually lived for my work. I rarely socialized outside of the Scooby circle...I hadn't been on a date in more than a year. I spent a lot of time training, still more patrolling. I'd taken to reading all of Giles' books whenever I got a spare moment... I'd even learned French and Latin.   
  
I'd thrown myself into my slaying, and it showed. When I fought now...   
  
I remember being in Faith's body, remember being surprised by how much weaker than mine it was. Faith had maybe a third of my strength. But she knew how to use it. She strove to be the best, to outshine me, and as a result, I never knew the difference.   
  
I'd taken on her fierce determination. I think once you accept that this is it, this is what you are, your purpose, you really *have* to get that motivation going. Because you know that there is so little time for you, and you have to make an impression upon the world before you go, otherwise it will be like you never existed.   
  
In the scheme of things, the Slayer's lifespan is just the blink of an eye, the shot of a gun. You haven't got a lot of time, so you have to spend the time you do have damn wisely.   
  
Whenever I wasn't slaying, I was a receptionist, for a psychiatrist, Dr. Reatine. He was a kindly, fuddling sort of man, who reminded me a little of Wesley in his post-Angel Investigation years. He made me laugh.   
  
When I'd told him that I would be away awhile, he'd looked at me, his kind eyes searching my face, and he'd just said, "Good Luck", as if he could tell how hard this would be for me. I liked that about him.   
  
Now, standing in Conneticut, in front of a red-painted door with shiny brass numbers, I savoured those words of comfort. closing my eyes against the rush of fear, I knocked on the door.   
  
Everything seemed to go in slow motion while I waited for someone to answer. I felt my fisting clenching nervously at my side- in, out. In, Out. In, Out.  
  
I realized that my breathing was coming in the same tense pattern as my fist clenching, and-   
  
Before I could finish my thought, the door opened. 


	2. Chapter Two

*^*^*^*   
Part Two   
*^*^*^*   
  
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod....   
  
Angel was there, alright. He was laughing, his beautiful, sensuous lips curved into a grin.   
  
And at his side, holding his hand, was a tall, beatuiful, brunette, who was giggling uncontrollably.   
  
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod....  
  
I watched as the woman buried her face in his shoulder, presumably in an attempt to muffle her laughter....   
  
It's odd, but the first coherent thought that came to my head was, 'I wonder what's so funny?'   
  
Shock can do funky things to your mind, I guess.   
  
And he was still laughing! Why wouldn't he stop laughing?   
  
As soon as I thought this, he saw me.   
  
Of course, the laughter stopped.   
  
'Ha! See how you take the shock, buddy!', I thought maliciously. If I was going to be completely miserable for the next few days, he sure was gonna-   
  
No.   
  
I swallowed. I needed his help, and he owed me nothing... I wouldn't ruin whatever it was that he had built himself here. I wouldn't do that to him. No matter how much it hurt me, I still loved him, and wanted him to be happy.   
  
No matter where he found that happiness.   
  
"Hello, Angel," I said softly.   
  
He didn't say anything at all. If we'd been any other two people in the universe, I would have thought that he didn't remember me, didn't recognize me, but...   
  
You couldn't go through what we'd been through together, and then forget all about that person. It just wasn't possible.   
  
Believe me, I'd tried.  
  
He was still staring at me with this indescribable look in his eyes. He blinked, then his head moved a little. He whispered, a little hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure I was real...Maybe as if he wasn't sure he wanted me to be real, "Buffy?"   
  
"Come on, Angel," I said, aiming for light, "I don't look *that* different."   
  
It was true. Despite the years that had passed, I was largely identical to the girl he had known. The only major difference was the scar than ran down my cheek, to the corner of my mouth.   
  
No matter how ugly it was, it was one of the features I was the most proud of. I'd gotten it fighting one of the longest, hardest battles of my life, and I carried it as a symbol of my victory, and a memory of my loss.   
  
Giles had died in that battle.   
  
I stopped myself before the usual, familiar was of sadness and depair blanketed over me, and went back to watching Angel, who's eyes were flickering nervously from me toe the woman at his side.   
  
"Aren't you going to introduce us?" I asked with what I hoped passed for a goodnatured grin.   
  
His- what, Girlfriend? Lover?- had finally stopped laughing, and she smiled at him, waiting expectantly.   
  
"Uh.." He stammered, "Samantha, this is Buffy, an....old friend. Buffy, this is Samantha." Angel looked at me for a long moment, and then at his hand. I saw the claddagh ring nestled on his finger, glinting in the sunlight. My stomach lurched. "Samantha is my fiancee."   
  
I never thought I could feel sicker than I had the moment I had realized that Angel had left me, way back in the summer of 1999.   
  
I was wrong. Now, I felt like I would never breathe again.   
  
Somehow, I managed to speak. I sounded pretty much like a normal, sane person. I stepped up to her, smiling, and extended my hand so that she could shake it. "Hi. I'm sure if I'd spoken to Angel in the last five years, I'd have heard all about you."   
  
She laughed. Why did this woman find everything so damn funny?   
  
"Well, I've never heard of you either, so I guess we're even," She said warmly.   
  
Oh, great, she had to be nice to me, too?   
  
"I'm actually on my way out," Samantha said, "But it was lovely to meet you. I might catch up with you later."   
  
She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Angel goodbye.   
  
I looked at my feet until it was over.   
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*   
  
It wasn't until I felt Samantha brush past me that I looked up. At Angel. Into his eyes, for the barest of a moment. Then at the flowers that lined his path.   
  
"Buffy..."  
  
At the sound of his voice, I looked at him, but it wasn't the intimate, smoldering connection that we'd shared only moments earlier. It had lasted only a split second, but it been enough to refresh my memory, remind me of all those hours spent staring into one another's eyes.   
  
"I think we've established that, yes, I am Buffy."   
  
It was all I could really think of saying. I didn't know what he wanted me to say, but to an even greater extent, I didn't know what I wanted to tell him.   
  
"I know, I just.....What are you *doing* here?" He didn't sound mad, just bewildered in the extreme. I knew my presence was a shock to him, and how confusing it was.   
  
For both of us.   
  
"I need your help."   
  
There were several long moments of silence. I looked up, and caught his eye. I didn't look away this time.   
  
"Buffy, I wish I could help, but I'm not in that business anymore," He said softly, "I'm sorry."   
  
It killed me that he actually sounded relieved that he wouldn't be able to help me. Once, he would have been struck with a deep despair, as if he'd failed both me and himself. I tried not to show how much he had hurt me with his tone, averting my eyes and angrily shoving a lock of disobedient hair away from my face.   
  
"You don't have to be," I said calmly, allowing myself to look him in the eyes again. "You won't be in any danger."   
  
He looked uncertain for a moment, and then he cautiously begain to speak, "And-"   
  
I didn't let him finish. I couldn't. I knew what he was going to ask, and I didn't want to hear it from his lips.   
  
"Neither will Samantha," I said, and I can admit it, I made no attempt to mask my bitterness.   
  
He was more worried about *her* than he was me.   
  
  
  
"Buffy..." He sounded so tired in that moment, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt for the way I had spoken to him. Whatever he was going to say, he decided against it, instead releasing a long, tired sigh. "Why don't you come inside. We can have some tea, and you can tell me what this is all about, okay?"   
  
He lifted his hand, as if he were going to press it against my back and gently guide me inside, but it froze in midair. A ripple of tension passed between us as our gazes locked. "Inside," I said, "Into your home."   
  
  
  
His hand dropped to his side, and he looked away.   
  
Silently, we moved inside. 


	3. Chapter Three

^*^*^*^   
Part Three   
*^*^*^*   
  
We sat in his dining room, the tension thick between us. While he made tea, we had been oddly polite and formal, considering how well we know....knew....each other. We had gone through the formalities, each asking after the other's well being, each nodding and smiling, Angel pretending to believe my lies about life being 'great', and me pretending not to care about how happy he sounded. anywhere beyond friendly interest. we'd come in here, and sat down across from each other. His knee had brushed mine, and it was like this surge of adrenaline sped through my vains...it had been an age since I'd last touched him, and I longed to press my hand against his heart and feel the vibrations of his heartbeat burn through my veins.   
  
It was with great diffuculty that I resisited the impulse. I tightened my hold on my teacup 'til I feared it would shatter under the pressure, then relinquished my deathgrip and smoothed my hands across the tablecloth. It was a beautiful crimson shade, with threads of silver running through it. I ran a nail along one of the silver columns, sighing, and then finally looking up at Angel.   
  
He remained undaunted by the brush of our limbs, in fact, I was pretty sure he hadn't even noticed it.   
  
I didn't know whether to be glad, sad, or offended, so I chose indifference instead.   
  
So he didn't want me anymore. He didn't burn for me, like I did for him. In the grand scheme of things, did it really matter? I think not. It's not like I had a long lonely life stretched out before me.   
  
No, I had a *short* lonely life stretched out before me.   
  
Amazing, and quite depressing, that that actually made me feel better.   
  
"What is it, exactly, that you need from me, Buffy?" He asked quietly, gazing at me with such indifference that I felt I was going to drop to my knees and cry, sob out years worth of frustration and unhappiness, because everything was so dark, everything was so hopeless.....   
  
"I need you to hide me." I said evenly.   
  
I need you to want me   
  
"There's this demon..."   
  
I need you to need me.   
  
"It's a long story...."   
  
I need you to love me.   
  
I wasn't really sure how much I shoud tell him. Complete knowledge was out of the question, it would make things *way* too weird between us. Not that they weren't weird already, but.... Did he really need to know that he was the only person who could protect me? I think not. He didn't need to know anything. Anything at all.   
  
It was better that way.   
  
"It's not really that interesting...besides, the less you know, the safer you are." I finished softly.   
  
There. That should stop him from asking too many questions.   
  
It would be too awkward to explain to him that he was the only person who could protect me. The reasons brought back too many memories, and the pain of mulling over them would be like a cancer, eating away at my head, my heart.   
  
My 17th birthday. It all came back to that night.   
  
You see, the demon that was pursuing me wasn't really dangerous at all. It just wasn't in his nature, or the nature of his species, to take 'no' for an answer.   
  
He wanted me for his mate.   
  
Todd was a Ealista demon. They were peaceful demons, living lives that mirrored a human existence perfectly. He was handsome, successful, sweet... but I didn't love him, and never would.   
  
Unfortunately, once an Ealista chooses a mate, it won't let that mate go, whether the relationship is consensual or not. In pursuit of that mate, an Ealista will wipe out anything that stands between it and the object of it's affections. It won't become peaceful again til it can settle down and raise a family with it's mate.   
  
Problem is, I didn't want to kill Todd. He hadn't hurt anyone, as of yet, and we'd been friends before he'd decided that I was the love of his life. I couldn't stand to watch another friend , another *peaceful* friend, die.   
  
Thankfully, Wesley agreed. After Giles' death, Wesley had just fallen back into the position of my Watcher, and I was grateful for it. We worked well together, and had become close...Not Father/Daughter close, like Giles and I, but more...Brother/Sister. It worked out well, and we loved aeach other dearly.   
  
For hours, Wesley researched books of Ealista traditions.   
  
Finally, he found something that could help me.   
  
Angel.   
  
According to an old Ealista custom, a mate cannot be claimed if he or she is already 'owned' by another. As I was.   
  
When I gave myself to Angel all those yars ago, I became his forever. No other man, or woman, or demon could claim me as their own.   
  
Well, if you follow Ealista law, anyway.   
  
So basically, Todd just had to come here, see that I had supposedly been 'claimed' by my lover, and he would give up on me. Neat, huh?   
  
I hadn't counted, though, on being around Angel being so hard. Samantha, for one thing, was something that I hadn't let myself believe would happen.   
  
But, there it was. Angel was getting married. To someone else.   
  
He was happy. With someone else. As in not me.   
  
And here I was, all alone. As usual.   
  
"Oh," He said. "Okay, I trust your judgement. And you can stay here. In our spare bedroom."   
  
There was an awkward pause, and then I said, "Thankyou. It means a lot that you'd still help me, even after...."   
  
I trailed off uncomfortably.   
  
The silence that followed was stark, heavy, harsh. I could hear his heart beat.   
  
"Buffy....." He started, looking at his hands, "When I didn't come back...I don't want you to think- I mean, it wasn't because- I just thought-"   
  
"Don't," I cut him off, rather harshly. I could feel a ball of pain surfacing in my stomach. "It doesn't matter. IT's in the past, and that past is...gone. It worked out better for everyone."   
  
He nodded, slowly, and then got up, going into the kitchen to get some tea.   
  
"Everyone who's not currently Buffy," I whispered to the empty room.   
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*   
  
I stuffed a handful of popcorn into my mouth, rolling onto my side to avoid choking. Next to me, Angel lay on his back, scoffing down a chocolate bar. I noticed that he'd smeared caramel all over his bottom lip, and it took a multitude of self control to prevent myself from kissing it away.   
  
Instead, I turned my attention to the room around us.   
  
We lay on his living room floor, just chatting. Catching up. It was nice....and odd....and slightly awkward. Odd, because Angel moved and spoke like a regular human. Every now and then I'd stop and look at him, with beams of sun lighting his face, his hair, his eyes. He looked amazing, like he always had, but...different, to how he had as a vampire, when he had bathed in velvety darkness rather than silken sunlight.   
  
Awkward, for much the same reason. I still wanted him with every part of me, and I'm sure he knew. How could he not, with the way I'd catch myself staring at him adoringly, practically salivating? He didn't say anything, but he knew.   
  
Once, he would have cared. He would have felt the same way, would have been burning to touch me, to hold me.   
  
Ironic, really, that now that he could, without danger, he no longer wanted to.   
  
We talked about everything except the ever present cloud of 'us'.   
  
Not that I wanted to talk about us.   
  
Things were complicated enough as it was.   
  
"So how're the guys?" Angel asked, the smooth, delicious sound of his voice breaking me from my reverie.   
  
"The usual. Willow and Tara, still going strong. They're pretty cute, actually. Positively adorable sometimes. Xander and Anya are on again, off again. They see other people. Cordelia is filming in Paris at the moment, but last time I spoke to her, she was great. Sleeping with her director. Also, her producer, but if you could keep that quiet, she'd be grateful."   
  
"Filming?"  
  
"She's had acting lessons since you last saw her. She's got a small part in an independent movie. It'll probably never see the light of day....Oz comes in and out of town, still trying to control his wolfiness. He drifts from band to band, job to job. Still plays with the Dingoes, whenever he can. He's still Oz. His silences are a lot more serious, now, though."   
  
"What about Wes?"   
  
My face lit in an affectionate smile. "He's great. Still single, but then, so am I, so it works. We get on a lot better than we used to. A bond formed out of necessity, I suppose, but a bond all the same."   
  
A strange expression settled onto his face. I'd seen it before, but I couldn't quite place it.   
  
"Are you two...Are you *sleeping* together?"   
  
I had to restrain a whoop of joy as I placed the expression.   
  
Jealousy! He was *jealous*!   
  
I can't tell you how much that meant to me, even if his jealousy was out of habit, rather than passion. At least he *cared*, even in some small way. Even if he wouldn't admit it.   
  
I wish I could let him keep believing that Wes and I were having a torrid affair, but at the same time, I knew that it would be cruel to play with his mind, especially when he had opened his home to me. When he was keeping me safe.   
  
"Oh, yeah. I mean, I just couldn't resist him. Those guys with three names are *so* sexy. Behind that serious facade, there's a world of sexuality just waiting to be set free. It's breathtaking."   
  
Okay, so maybe I could play with his mind a *little*.   
  
Angel had gone ashen white, which was sorta gratifying. He blinked several times, swallowing. He looked panicked. "R- Really?" He stammered.   
  
I started to laugh. "No!" I exclaimed, "Angel, the guy is my *watcher*. That thought is just...sick. Really sick. I'm severely worried about you, now."   
  
The look on his face was priceless. I almost wish I had a camera. A deep relief, combined with mortified embarrassment, mixed with just a dash of puzzled confusion.   
  
"Your watcher?" He asked, once he was able to speak again. "What happened to Giles?"   
  
I lifted my hand to the scar that marked my cheek, running my fingers down it, trying not to cry. Somehow, having to tell Angel about it brought all the carefully worked through pain back. I could hear Giles' screams in my mind, see the blood...oh, god, the blood.... the blood....   
  
"Giles is dead," I said emotionlessly, sitting up, wrapping my arms around my knees and staring out his window at a tree, blowing in the winter wind.   
  
The shocked silence stretched on for a eternity, and the room was suddenly freezing cold and stark, as if the world itself were grieving Giles' death.   
  
I heard Angel release a breath, then another. I know he was shocked, probably saddened by the death of a great man, Giles', who was once *his* friend, too. I knew all of this, and it only made it harder.   
  
"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he said quietly, gently. His voice was almost a physical carress, trying to soothe me. I could feel it running over my skin, felt warmth in my bones.   
  
It didn't make it easier. "Why?" I said bitterly, "It's not your fault. You weren't even there."   
  
His wince was almost audible. "I..."   
  
"Don't," I whispered, "I just want to drop it."   
  
Part of me was furious at him for not being there when I had needed him so much, just to hold me, to comfort me. Another, more sensible part knew that I had no right to ask him to waste his new humanity on me. I had nothing to offer him, just like I had nothing to offer Riley. Or Tyler. Or Pike. Or Scott.   
  
But damn, it hurt, that he was just like them.   
  
"So are you still with Riley?" He asked hesitantly.   
  
God, was he trying to kill me?   
  
"No," I said, flopping back, staring up at the cieling, "He left about 4 and a half years ago."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"He knew I didn't love him," I said simply.   
  
"But is there anyone in your life?"   
  
I shrugged, "Why bother? It always turns out the same way."   
  
He didn't reply, and I was glad, because I hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. Changing the subject, I started telling him about Spike.   
  
It took almost an hour for the uneasy bitterness to flee, but I covered fairly well. Once, Angel would have seen through it immediately, but now, he wasn't even suspicious.   
  
So much for soulmates. 


	4. Chapter Four

*^*^*^*   
Part Four   
*^*^*^*  
  
It scared me, the way I revelled in the feel of the knife in my hands. What was wrong with me? Normal people did *not* like this activity. They avoided it. Some managed to go their entire life without having to do it.   
  
But I liked it.   
  
I liked the way that the flesh tore beneath my blade, the way it sounded, the way it felt. I liked the smell that permeated the air as the first layer of skin was broken. I liked the liquid that dribbled down the knife and touched my hand.   
  
I liked the release of finally crying afterwards.   
  
"Have you finished chopping the onions, Buffy?" Angel asked from behind me.   
  
I turned, flashing a grin, wiping my eyes, "Only just." I handed him the chopping board, setting to work on the tomatoes, which weren't quite so much fun.   
  
We had been working together without crisis for half an hour now, me chopping, which was a skill of mine, and him mixing and cooking, because Angel seemed to have a Midas touch.   
  
Angel. Touch.   
  
A warmth spread through my fingers and into my belly as I stared at him, his back to me, now, stirring a large pot of pasta.   
  
He was wearing an apron.   
  
Angel in an apron.   
  
Images of our past flashed in my mind, of him cooking for Faith and I after a long, hard evening of fighting in which Faith and I had managed to sprain an ankle each. He'd insisted on taking us home, and we'd spent most of the night at my house, watching videos together, him cooking us pasta, rolling his eyes at our viewing selection, a mixture of amusement and mild jealousy passing over his dark features when I'd put on The Big Hit and started singing Mark Wahlberg's praises.   
  
I remember I'd forced him to sit and watch it with us, the three of us sprawled on my bed, my hand linked with his. By the end of the movie, both Faith and I were stretched across him, the three of us a big tangle of arms and legs and stomaches.   
  
It was comfortable, and they felt familiar, and I think we all felt safe. Faith, especially, wasn't used to… to holding and snuggling without it being a prelude to sex. It just felt nice, you know...being close to people. It was like we were anchoring ourselves to each other, forming this web of safety around us...to make things easier. To forget the hurt.   
  
Of all the nights spent with my buds, that was my favourite. I didn't think about that possibility that Faith would try to seduce Angel, and I wasn't worried about Angel and I losing control. We were just relaxing, acting like...acting like normal friends. Like Willow and Xander and I would, only...   
  
Only Faith and Angel understood me. That's why it was so special...They understood how close the darkness was, and how afraid of it I was. They knew. Because they were as afraid of it as I was.   
  
That night, we let ourselves be each other's light, and let each other keep the darkness at bay.   
  
But that had been before...what?   
  
Before Faith let go of the light, I suppose. Before Angel left me, and before...   
  
Before he forgot. We forgot.   
  
I wish we could go back to that time now, if only for a night. I wish I could lie in their embrace, Faith's head on my belly, her torso across Angel's, my cheek on his shoulder, one palm flat against his chest, the other playing with Faith's hair.   
  
Only, this time...I wish I could feel his heartbeat.   
  
I'd give anything to feel it, to hear it, just once. Anything.   
  
But more than anything, I wish I could let them know how much I love them.   
  
*^*^*^*^*   
  
Half an hour later, we sat down to a nice, romantic dinner. Or, at least, it would have been romantic, if Angel had let me leave him and Samantha alone.   
  
There's nothing worse than being the 3rd wheel when you've been in love with one of the wheels for a good 10 years, and the other wheel, who is like, a mag wheel in comparison to your worn inner tube, has no idea that you're in love with her boyfriend. Fiance. Whatever.   
  
What was worse, was that Angel and Samantha make a very lovely pair. They're the freakin' Jennifer and Brad of the tyre world.   
  
Okay, I'll quit with the tyre thing now, I think you've got the idea.   
  
So there we were, sitting in Angel's lovely home, with Angel's lovely fiancee, eating Angel's lovely pasta concoction, and all I can think is : Why is this not my life?   
  
Part of me feels cheated, like something rightfully mine has been stripped away filling me with the intense desire to cry, and part of me still has the strange urge to laugh. Part of me wants to look at Samantha and grin and say 'He promised me forever,' but I do none of these things. Instead I sit quietly and eat, trying not to notice the fact that when Samantha got home she went and changed into a shirt that I distinctly remember buying for Angel when he was still mine. I can see the shoddy stitching on the third button, which I accidentally pulled off when we were training, and insisted on sewing back on, just to knock the sceptical smirk off Angel's face when I first declared that I'd mend it. I'm surprised that the button hasn't fallen off again.   
  
This memory brings a fresh lump to my throat, and I look down and furiously blink back tears. This wasn't supposed to be so hard! Get in, get rid of Todd, get out. Wham, bam, thankyou ma'm. I wasn't supposed to have to sit through a dinner with a perfectly friendly, pleasant woman, who had everything I wanted in the world, and more.   
  
I keep getting this thought in my head: She's what I might have become, if I hadn't become a superhero when I turned fifteen. But then I think, if I wasn't the Slayer, I wouldn't be me. And if I wasn't me, Angel wouldn't ever have loved me.   
  
"How was your meeting?" Angel was saying to Samantha, looking at her with this little smile that made me want to drop my fork. He used to smile at me like that.   
  
"Great," she said, smiling, and it crushed me even further that she had one of the most beautiful smiles I'd ever seen, genuine and bright, a smile that reached her eyes, which mine almost never did these days. That was a smile that I mentally compared to Will's 'geeker joy' expression, or the smile on Cordelia's face when she landed her first proper acting role. They're all so fucking beautiful when they're joyful, and I wish I could join them in their happiness, but most days I just feel...cold. I love my friends, and the only joy I have lately is watching them accomplish things, to grow and flourish. They're moving, and I'm standing still, like a parent, watching her children run through the playground, some small part of her wishing she could join them, but never really working up the energy to actually do it.   
  
"I got the new Jonas video clip," Samantha continued, "and I got some calls from people about dresses for the Oscars," She finished happily, "I spoke to Drew Barrymore on the phone today. I love my job."   
  
"Samantha is a designer," Angel said, with a rather obvious hint of pride in his voice, "One of the most respected in the country."   
  
"Wait, you're Samantha as in... Samantha Minxsk?" I said, catching on suddenly, "Founder of Minx Nation?" I tried to stop my jaw from dropping, but it's a mean feat. I mean, that's pretty impressive. "Cordelia's been babbling about you for months!"   
  
"Who's Cordelia?" Samantha said, blushing a little, which increased my respect for her. Damnit, I didn't want to like her, but I was really starting to. She had a friendly, laid back nature that I respected, and that comforted me. It was familiar, although she used much more expression than Oz, who I had a sudden longing for... my eyes even darted towards the phone, but I managed to regain my focus enough to look at Samantha.   
  
"An old friend of ours... She and Angel used to be close, strangely, " I said with a grin.   
  
"Cordy and I worked together," Angel said with a fond smile, "She was always so....Cordy."   
  
I laughed, "Yeah, you'll find that people like to act like themselves."   
  
"She's indescribable."   
  
"Yeah," I said, unable to keep the affectionate lilt out of my voice as I thought of Cordelia, "Cordy's an actress."   
  
"Oh," Samantha said, and then looked at Angel, with something I recognized in her eyes: irrational jealousy. "Was she your girlfriend?"   
  
Angel almost choked on his pasta, which I found a little amusing, especially with the way his eyes flickered towards me, obviously thinking that she was talking about me. "Who?" he asked.   
  
"Cordelia," Samantha said, gazing at him levelly.   
  
"Hell, no," Angel said, shaking his head, "Talk about a match made in hell. Cordy's a sister to me. Incestuous, that's what it would be."   
  
"Who did you *think* I was talking about?" Samantha asked suddenly.   
  
Angel froze, and my mouth was suddenly moving, but I didn't know what I was going to say.   
  
"He was just shocked at the concept of dating Cordelia," I said, and internally sighed, relieved that I had said something intelligent and plausible, rather than come out with incomprehensible babble as I had feared. I turned to Angel, smirking at the ashen colour his cheeks had become. "Cordelia's going to be beyond offended when I tell her about this, you know," I said with a grin.   
  
His eyes were bright with gratitude as they stared into my own, and I smiled at him softly, my message clear: I'm not going to spoil this for you. I want you to be happy. I love you.   
  
I'm dying.   
  
I looked away quickly when I felt like I was going to shatter into a million particles of heart and soul and scatter into the wind, never to be collected again.   
  
I pushed back a lock of my hair, and focused my attention on the monstrous heap of pasta before me. Since my calling - or more accurately, since the summer I'd sent Angel to hell- I'd become a bit of a lightweight in the eating department. I suppose I'd gotten used to skipping meals, not feeling like eating. Maybe I just didn't care. All I know is, I could never get myself to eat more than a few bites of my meal, and even that was largely just for show, to prevent those around me from looking at me with *that* expression, that look that told me they knew how unhappy I was, that expression which made me guilty that I wasn't happier, that I wasn't dealing as well as I should be.   
  
I hate that expression.   
  
Closing my eyes against the surge of heaviness in my gut, I shoveled another forkul of pasta into my mouth, chewing, part of me barely even tasting the food, part of me noting a little wistfully that the taste of Angel's specialty pasta hadn't changed in the years since he'd last made a meal for me.   
  
God, I hate this. I hate sitting here with them, pretending that he means nothing more to me than a friend. I hate being his friend. It's almost worse than being his enemy. At least, being his enemy, there'd be something *intense* within him, just for me. As his friend, whatever might be in his heart for me is grey and lifeless, dull and...meaningless. Inconsequential.   
  
Don't get me wrong, friends are special, and important, and *everything*, but that's not Angel and I. We've been lots of things over the years - lovers, enemies, side-by-side warriors - but friends was something that we never really perfected. We tried - God, we tried, I'm still exhausted from the friends-farce we pulled when he first came back from hell - but we'd never been able to do it. *I* stilll couldn't, but Angel... I was having serious doubts about him, especially from the way he's holding Sam's hand, so comfortably, so naturally....   
  
And we're back to the whole damn perfect pair of wheels thing.   
  
I'm sitting here with the freakin' most perfect couple in the world, and I'm desperately, mind-muddlingly, heart-wrenchingly, bone-crumblingly in love with one of them.   
  
Excuse me while I die. 


	5. Chapter Five

Part 5  
  
  
Angel came to my door that night, just as we were all getting ready for bed. I felt him behind me, but didn't turn around, gazing unseeing into the night.   
  
I'd always felt this pull as soon as the sun went down, uring me to go and kick some demon ass, to protect the world until morning, when everything was safe.   
  
Well, safer.   
  
"I should be out there," I said, not bothering to explain myself to Angel. The Angel I knew would have known what I was talking about, and if this one didn't, that was his problem.   
  
"They'll survive without you for a few days," Angel promised softly, and I was flooded with love for him. He always knew what was going on with me.   
  
"Maybe," I replied with a shrug, turning around to face him, a little self conscious of the pyjamas I wore - long silver silk draawstring pants, and a black tank top, sprinkled liberally with stars. I had outfits that were a hundred times more revealing, that I wore in public without reservation, but this....reminded me of days past, I suppose. Of him appearing in my window, tucking me into bed, and just sitting with me til I fell asleep.   
  
That wouldn't be happening tonight. I'd go to bed, alone, and he'd go back to his fiance. They'd lie together, maybe make love.   
  
More than ever, I wanted to be out in the night, punching, kicking...killing.   
  
"Was there something you wanted?" I asked, looking at my feet, not letting him see my thoughts, which I'm sure were written all over my face.   
  
"I just wanted..." He shrugged, "To say goodnight, I suppose."   
  
Oh.   
  
"Oh. Goodnight."   
  
"Goodnight."  
  
"Thanks for letting me stay here."   
  
"Anytime. 'Night."   
  
Still, he didn't move to leave the doorway, just stood there and stared at me for a few moments, his face looking confused, unsure.   
  
Just when I thought I would never be released from his gaze, he looked at his feet, and then back up at me, into my eyes. He swallowed, his voice sounding much quieter than I'd ever heard it before.   
  
"Is this really happening?"   
  
Neither of us spoke us he looked at me for a moment longer, and then moved off down the hallway.   
  
--  
  
  
INTERLUDE   
  
*/*Angel*/*   
  
I can't really describe how it felt to be seeing her again. I mean, one day, it's just me and Sam, Sam and I, living that all-important normal life, and then, the next...Buffy was there. Buffy, in all her freaky, abnormal splendor...Suddenly, nothing was sure anymore.   
  
I wish I could tell you why I didn't go back to Buffy, when everything changed for me...I had no real reason, just...something in my guy told me not to. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was uncertainty. Maybe it was that ever-present feeling of not deserving her. Whatever it was, I didn't go. I didn't fight for her. Maybe I should have, but...I didn't. I just didn't.   
  
When she showed up on my doorstep, when she had dinner with my fiancee and I, when she looked at me with those eyes of hers, those eyes I could drown in...I could see how much it hurt her that I hadn't tried to make things work between us.   
  
I couldn't even offer her any explanation.   
  
I went to say goodnight to her, which was completely unplanned. I was going to my bedroom, and then, suddenly, I was in her doorway, staring at the familiar lines of her back. I could tell she was worrying, and it scared me a little how easily I fell into the role of her comforter, how easily I could interpret her feelings, even now. She was nervous...Uncomfortable...A little jealous. She was lonely.   
  
All this, in a two line conversation. And a lot of meaningful body language, on her part. Probably on mine, too.   
  
Sam and I had never really developed an unspoken language the way Buffy and I had. Well, we had, just...not...not quite as detailed. Not quite as intense. Our unspoken conversations generally consisted of things like 'I want to leave this party, no' and 'I don't want to talk about this' or 'kiss me *there*'. Buffy and I could have in-depth heart-to-hearts using only our eyes, our hands, our bodies..and, yeah, I'll admit it, our souls.   
  
Funny, for people who could read each other so well, we had a lot of misunderstandings. I guess it's because you can never really be sure what is in another person's heart. Buffy and I were both...fragile...We didn't always trust what was plain to the eye, because we'd been decieved so often in the past. Our hearts had been broken time and time again, and it made sense for us to be wary.   
  
Especially Buffy.   
  
Sam was waiting for me when I returned from my little detour down...well, I guess you could call it Memory Lane.   
  
"Buffy settling in okay?" she asked with a smile, and I realised that she *liked* Buffy. I wonder if she would have felt the same if she'd known the truth.   
  
"Fine," I replied quickly, shooting her a half smile and moving to stand in front of the mirror. I stared into my own reflection, into my human skin, the human warmth in my human eyes.   
  
Was passion truly the price of humanity? As a vampire, I'd had passion. I'd burned for things with all the intensiry of a million stars. I'd burned for Buffy.   
  
As a human, there was simply...peace. Quiet, gentle feelings. Warmth, but not...not searing heat, nor bitter cold. No going to extremes. Extremes were dangerous. They hurt. I should be wary of them.   
  
It's not that I didn't love Sam, I did. She was amazing. Great. I just never felt like I was going to burst into flames if I didn't touch her for another moment, and I never felt like I would die if I never heard her voice again.   
  
Those were things I associated with Buffy; yearning, longing, pain.   
  
With Sam, there was calm. There was soothing. Everything was easy. It never hurt. I was so tired of hurting, of everything being a struggle. So tired of cursees, and clauses, and being reminded of a dark past I could never really recover from or escape. I was tired of being a warrior.   
  
So, I just... let it all drift away, and found happiness in Samantha's arms. Not the sort of happiness I'd had with a 17 year old Buffy, not true, perfect, unadulterated bliss, but...easy contentment.   
  
I didn't need bliss. I just needed safety.   
  
Which didn't explain at all why, when I fell asleep in the circle of Sam's arms, I dreamed of the hurt...and a little blonde girl that I guarded fiercely...because she was my mate.   
  
I didn't understand that at all. 


	6. Chapter Six

*^*^*   
Part Six  
*^*^*  
  
Swoop. Slide. Twist. Thrust. Spin. Jump.   
  
I'd woken early the next morning, my body unused to the lavish amounts of sleep I had the opportunity to revel in. Sleep was a luxury not often afforded on this Slayer, and now that I had the means, I found that not only did I not relish the sleep, but that I itched to get out of bed. I itched to move, to leap, to put my muscles to use until I was light-headed from exhaustion.   
  
So, at not even 6am on a Sunday morning, I'd wandered into Angel's backyard, barely protected against the harsh winter, and begun to move in that way that came naturally to me. I fought an invisible enemy, danced with a phantom lover. I rolled, I leaped, I twisted, I twirled. My body contorted into positions befitting the most advanced level of Kama Sutra, and I loved it.   
  
God, my talents were wasted on celibacy.   
  
The music blasting through my phones was comforting and familiar - a mix tape Oz had made me, that I cherished on a level beyond musical appreciation; he'd gone to a lot of effort to personalise it, and it was made just for me. A gift from a real friend.   
  
Oz and I had grown a lot closer upon his return from what I'd dubbed his 'spiritual roadtrip', as we were the only ones who were...alone. Apart from Wesley, but then, as an 'authority figure', he didn't much count, at the time. Willow had Tara, Angel had departed for destinations unknown, all the other relationships I could *possibly* invest myself in were doomed to failure, and so, as the solitary figures of the group, we'd drifted together, and had stayed that way.   
  
Which is why he knew that putting 'New Kids on the Block' on my mix tape would make me laugh, as I had been, like many other young girls of the era, a fanatic, a fact which I had only admitted to 3 people. Ever. Angel, Willow, and Oz. The three people who probably knew me better than anybody, with the possible exception of my mother. Actually, I know that when he was around all the time, Angel knew me even better than Mom.   
  
The song on the tape drifted away, replaced by a Placebo song that Oz had decided, seemingly by intuition, that I would love. He was right, and I sang along softly under my breath as I stretched and manipulated my liquid body. "No hesitation, no delay, you come on, just like Special K, just like I swallowed half my stash, and never, ever, wanna crash..."   
  
As the day became brighter, and the world around me noticeably picked up its pace and began to really live again, I wondered if perhaps I should slow down, maybe stop, go inside, have some breakfast, rest. I wanted Samantha to think I was normal - I was desperate for her acceptance, for some strange reason- and most people don't do hardcore workouts early in the morning in virtual strangers' backyards.   
  
Yes, it was probably a wise idea to stop.   
  
Even so, it took me almost an hour to draw myself down from the frenzy I'd worked myself into.   
  
****   
  
By the time I walked back into Angel's kitchen, still singing softly along to the Walkman, my hosts were out of bed. Angel sat, fully clothed at the table, absently reading the paper. Samantha lounged beside him in a terry-towelling robe, cinched just loosely enough at the waist for me to see her pyjamas, a cute little boxer and tank set. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, a pair of the longest, brownest, most perfect limbs I'd ever seen. I was attacked by vicious images of those flawless legs wrapped around Angel's waist, of sweat and flesh and shared laughter while making love in the sunshine. I swallowed, and pushed the assault away, choosing instead to focus on the less malicious pain of their contented domesticity.   
  
I know Angel sensed my arrival, saw it in the way he tensed slightly as I came through the door, but it was Samantha who first acknowledged my presence. She looked up and smiled warmly at me, waving. "Morning."   
  
I slid the headphones off my ears, placing the Walkman on the counter.   
  
"Good morning," I replied politely, wishing I could come up with something vaguely intelligent and witty to say. All those years of post-slayage punning, and I was lost. Awash in a sea of speechlessness.   
  
"You're an early riser," Sam noted, and I nodded dumbly.   
  
"Just a light workout," I said with a shrug.   
  
Angel snorted in a rather guy-ish way, and it was almost surreal, how much he sounded like someone my age in that moment. Sam turned to look at him raising an eyebrow, "Got something to say, Mister?"   
  
Angel looked up, his eyes moving from Sam to me and back before he spoke. "Buffy's idea of a light workout is vastly different to other people's."   
  
"Fitness freak?" Samantha asked me, munching on a piece of toast.   
  
"Job requirement," I responded automatically, "Need to stay healthy."   
  
"Aren't you a secretary?"   
  
"I do some...volunteer work...as well."   
  
The doorbell rang, and Sam left the room to answer it. Resolutely, I turned away from Angel, going to the fridge and getting out a bottle of water. As I stood staring out the window, I thought I felt his eyes gazing hungrily at my back, but shook it off, knowing it was just wishful thinking.   
  
It's not like he wanted me, or anything. 


	7. Chapter Seven

*^*^*^*   
Part Seven - INTERLUDE   
*^*^*^*   
  
*/*Angel*/*  
  
I'd forgotten how incredibly beautiful she is.   
  
I woke at just past 6am, and found myself, upon my immediate awakening, unable to place the scent of Sam's perfume, which hung heavily in the air. It smelled foreign to me, strange and unknown, not entirely unpleasant, but... wrong, in a way I didn't quite understand. I'd left the bed feeling unsettled, after bending to kiss Sam's forehead as I did every morning, but finding myself quite unable to actually do so.   
  
I padded into the kitchen after hurriedly dressing in a pair of worn black jeans and a grey sweater, running a frustrated hand through my bed-mussed hair, glancing out the window at the newborn day -- and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw her.   
  
She's a creature of magnificence and elegance; every move she makes is filled with deadly grace and agility. She's a weapon, and a woman, and a heart, and a soul, all wrapped up in an amazingly tantalising package and stamped with that guarantee of individuality. She's Buffy, she's the slayer, she's extraordinary.   
  
I'd always known that about her; from the moment I saw her, saw her heart, shining brilliantly through everything that tried to choke it down and damp it out, but that morning, when I saw her, in my own garden, slipping and sliding and stretching her body in such a delectable way... I froze in the presence of such perfection, like a humble servant in the face of the most supreme of goddesses. All I could do was stand, and stare, noting the way the sun seemed to shine off her sweat covered body, the way her damp blonde hair fell in her eyes, the tempting curve of her lips as she sang along to her walkman... All I could do was stare.   
  
I was still watching her when I heard Sam get up almost an hour later.   
  
*^*^*^*^*   
  
I think that if the Angel of about 8 years ago, the one with the demon and the curse and the all-too-sharp pain of loneliness met me now, he'd probably attempt to kill me immediately. Really. All that pain and suffering to be with her, to be *near* her, and when it came to the point that I could finally be around her, love her, kiss her, make love to her the way I always wanted to, I went off and found some other woman to cherish... I had a chance that he never had, and I didn't take the risks.   
  
Actually, screw the 'killing me immediately' thing. He'd torture me for hours, first.   
  
It's not that he wouldn't like Sam, I think he would. It just never occurred to him that there were women in the world *apart* from our Buffy - funny, I can't even think of her belonging solely to another being, even when that being is essentially me - apart from blonde hair and big eyes and such a beautiful soul... I don't think he'd ever consider settling for friendship, and I really don't think he'd even consider staying away from her if he got that chance. That human, curseless, love-in-the-sunshine chance.   
  
Yep. He'd torture me for sure.   
  
  
*^*^*^*^*  
//end of interlude//   
  
When Sam came back into the kitchen, Angel and I were sitting at the kitchen table; a strange awkwardness descending over us that hadn't been present the day before.   
  
Maybe it had something to do with me being still half-dressed - which is the same as half-naked - from my workout.   
  
Maybe it had something to with the fact that we'd woken up, and the whole situation had been proven real.   
  
So, anyway, Sam came back into the room about 5 minutes after she left, the doorbell ringers in tow, chatting happily. I sat stiffly for a moment, wondering if anyone was going to remember me and make the introductions that I so sorely needed.   
  
I kind of have this thing about meeting Angel's friends, new or old; about 50% of them try to kill me. Seriously, I worked it out. Used an equation and everything.   
  
I can't believe I just admitted that.   
  
It was Angel who first realised that I was sitting silently in confusion, glancing back and forth between everyone in the kitchen. Guess he was still hyperaware of me when I panicked.   
  
He leaned over, close to me, and I felt a rush of dizziness as he spoke in hushed tones. "You don't have to worry about them," he told me softly, and my heart fluttered because he knew me so well.   
  
"You know me," I murmured back, "hard to trust people. Especially strangers."   
  
He nodded, his lips tightening for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, "Guys, this is an old friend of mine, Buffy. Buffy, meet Sara and Brendan. Brendan works for me."   
  
"Heh - you know I'm just lulling you into a sense of false security before I conquer your nation," Brendan said lazily, but I barely heard him as I turned abruptly to Angel.   
  
"You work? Like, with a job?"   
  
Angel's face twitched a little, and he gazed at me sensibly, "What did you think I would be doing?"   
  
"I don't know, just... not working. You're not business-man-guy, you're sitting-around-in-your-mansion-reading-multi-lingual-novels-and-brooding-guy."   
  
"Mansion?" Samantha echoed in surprise, but neither Angel nor I replied.   
  
Angel snickered, "I own some restaurants and clubs."   
  
I stared at him, unable to process, and then auto-whine kicked in. "God, am I the *only* Scooby who isn't excelling at something? Thank god I've got Oz, or it'd just be li'l ol' secretary slacker me."   
  
"Scooby?" Samantha repeated, lost.   
  
"You're hardly a slacker, Buffy," Angel said softly, with sadness in his eyes - sadness for *me*, pity for *me*, and I suddenly wanted to throw up the bottle of water I'd just guzzled.   
  
I sighed, sat back, noticed the confused gazes of the people around me for the first time, and smiled wryly, "Long stories."   
  
Sara was just a tad taller than me, and a fair bit heavier - not that she was *fat*, or anything, I mean, I'm pretty scrawny - with copper red hair and a happy demeanour. She and Brendan were siblings, apparently. She wore an ivy-green silk shirt and flared blue jeans, and seemed completely at ease in her surroundings. I liked her, but I was jolted with a burning pain, because once, Angel and I were the only people who were comfortable in his home. I swallowed stiffly, pushing my self-pity, my longing, away, focussing on the present. Angel's present.   
  
Brendan was tall, but shorter than Angel, with slightly darker copper-brown hair, and twinkling green eyes and a lopsided smile. He was lanky and goofy, and I had the feeling that he was the type to spin girls a hundred lines, win them over completely, and then lose interest once the chase was over. I felt a little uncomfortable with the appraising look he gave me, still decked out in my workout gear. He smiled flirtatiously at me, and when he turned away I saw him raise his eyebrows at Angel and grin in that conspiratorial-guy-stuff way...   
  
I couldn't help but feel that same old girly satisfaction at the dark look that slid over Angel's face the moment Brendan looked away, and I knew if he'd still had the demon inside of him, he would have growled.   
  
So what if he doesn't have the right to be jealous anymore? I freely give him permission, no matter how pathetic that makes me.   
  
I'm quite used to being pathetic, thank you very much.   
  
I looked around the room, and felt this incredible sense of misplacement. They'd built a natural dynamic between them, just more evidence of Angel's distance from me. I didn't really know how to interact with them.   
  
So, for the moment, I chose not to.   
  
"I'm all sweaty," I said casually.   
  
"Yes you are." Brendan said, leering at me a little.   
  
I ignored the shivers that went down my spine. From watching him, I thought it was possible that I could like him, if he'd just stop undressing me with his eyes.   
  
"I'm going to go have a shower," I excused myself, "It's nice to meet you."   
  
I walked out of the room, and realised I had absolutely no idea where the shower was.   
  
I leaned in the kitchen door, blushing. "Uh, Angel?"   
  
He turned his head, studied me with his familiar eyes.   
  
"Where's the shower?"   
  
*^*^*^*^*   
  
He could have just told me, but, ever the gentleman, he left the kitchen with me, collecting a large fluffy navy towel from the linen closet on our way.   
  
"Sorry about Brendan," he said, not looking at me.   
  
"It's okay," I responded, oh-so-innocently, "He's actually kinda cute."   
  
I knew I shouldn't be pushing Angel's jealousy buttons, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I felt like I was seventeen again.   
  
//Actually, I do have a date. Older man. Very handsome...likes it when I call him *Daddy*//   
  
Angel sighed and grabbed my elbow. "Look, I just... He's got commitment issues. He'll only hurt you."   
  
I couldn't help but be amused, and I let the smirk show on my face.   
  
"You're playing with me again, aren't you?"   
  
"He's *so* not my type. I don't need a fuck buddy. I have slaying."   
  
"Fuck Buddy. Romantic."   
  
"Well, I'm not looking for a relationship. Anything I had with a guy would just be...meaningless sex. I've done that before, and it just left me feeling like shit."   
  
I can't believe I was speaking so frankly to him about my sex life. The one I used to have with other people.   
  
I don't think he quite believed it either, because there was silence for a few moments before he spoke again.   
  
"Why aren't you looking for a relationship?" he asked quietly, and I detected a hint of guilt as he opened the bathroom door for me.   
  
Pausing in the doorway, I turned and smiled sadly at him.   
  
We both knew why. 


	8. Chapter Eight

*^*^*   
Part Eight  
*^*^*  
  
I remember looking into the mirror once, Angel at my side, and thinking that my reflection must be lonely; no quiet wall of strength at her side, no lips to pour words of love and comfort to her ears. I remember wanting to cry because I couldn't imagine a life without Angel.   
  
Looking into the mirror, standing in Angel's guest bathroom, using towels that he never would have picked and smelling soaps that a guy never would have thought to buy, I felt worse. It was all so *domestic*, and that hurt, because I had dreams of sharing comfortable domesticity with him. In the world inside my head we lived practically inside each other's skin. We'd share everything, and laugh, and fight over the bills and what colour the new kitchen blinds should be. Invitations would come addressed to 'Angel and Buffy', and we'd compete madly at Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit... and at the end of a long hard day -//night//- we'd make love and crawl into bed together and I'd fall asleep in his arms.   
  
Pipe dreams.   
  
With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror, sliding my long-sleeved top on, giggling as I looked down at the words scrawled across my breasts in black block letters: "My Ex-Boyfriend went to Hell and all I got was this Crappy T-Shirt". The shirt was a custom-made gift from Oz, given to me only after a long night of talking through my issues with that whole deal, and stowing them safely away in the 'there was no other way' portion of my brain. Honestly, the only reason I wore it that day was to ruffle Angel's feathers a little. He was too damn calm.   
  
I pulled my blue jeans on and turned to examine myself in the mirror; my hair hung around me in golden waves, and I wore no make up, and I have to admit I looked pretty damn good. Not that I was making an effort or anything...   
  
I grinned sheepishly at myself and left the bathroom, heading towards the voices I could hear wafting in from the living room.  
  
I still felt nervous about being around Angel's friends. Strangely, I wanted their approval, but I also resented them in too many ways for me to count...he had friends, at home. Family...and we weren't good enough.   
  
Sighing and pushing those thoughts out of my head, I strode into the room with a smile, trying to appear unconcerned about how very out-of-place I was. They were in the middle of a lazy conversation about something or other, so I just smiled politely and sank into an unoccupied armchair to watch.   
  
Angel's eyes met mine, and then flickered down to my breasts - typical guy - to read the words that stood out starkly against the white material.   
  
He raised both eyebrows, pursed his lips, and looked away.   
  
Okay, I must admit I was hoping for more of a reaction than that, but hey, it didn't matter. I look really great in that shirt.   
  
Ooh, and he looked really great in *his* shirt, too. Of course, he'd look better without it...   
  
I started when I realised that Brendan was talking to me.   
  
"So what brings you to town, Buffy?" he asked, sipping at his coffee, looking at me like I was his prey.   
  
It amuses me to know that if I wanted to, I could have killed him with my pinky. Really! I did it to a demon once.   
  
"I needed a break, so I've just been travelling around. Thought I'd drop in on Angel on my way through town."   
  
"Lucky us," he said with another flirtatious grin. I coughed, trying not to laugh when I looked at Angel, who'd obviously already forgotten our previous 'fuck-buddy' talk, and was glaring at Brendan with poorly-veiled hostility. I'm glad I was the only one looking at him, cos if Sam had taken a glance in his direction there'd be a whole party of questions that I wasn't really crazy about answering.   
  
I grinned at Brendan, grateful for his presence. It was making the whole situation a lot more fun. For me, anyway.   
  
Kept my mind *away* from the fact that Sam sat next to Angel, her hand draped casually over his thigh.  
  
That was a *lot* less fun to think about.   
  
--  
  
I remember the last time I saw Angel, before the shanshu, very clearly.   
  
It was one year after the Faith/Riley incident. Two years before Angel's shanshu. Five years before I turned up on his doorstep in Chicago, and was introduced to the wonderful world of Angel and Sam.   
  
We'd just won a battle - a long, tiring, apocalypse-type deal - and we sat on the ground, side by side, panting...Well, I was panting, Angel had given up the unnecessary habit of breathing hours before, when things had started to get way down and dirty.   
  
It was just the two of us. We'd left the others, our extended family, at Giles' place to worry and wonder and wait for us to return... even Spike. It was strictly a warriors-only event, as prophecized. If we couldn't beat it, no one could.   
  
As it turned out, we could and did beat it. Whupped the hellspawns collective asses back to their own territory.  
  
Go team, go.   
  
So anyway, afterwards, Angel and I were stuck in the old Sunnydale High building until night fell once more, him because he didn't fancy getting a crispy skin tan, and me because of my reluctance to leave him, and so we talked... all day.   
  
As quiet as he appears to most people, Angel and I used to talk all the time. I'd tell him everything, and he'd tell me - well, it took a while, but eventually he got to the point where he'd tell me stuff too. It wasn't easy to get him to pull down those barriers and let me see inside his soul, but when I did, I would luxuriate in him.   
  
I never saw Angel as human, and I never saw him as a vampire. Don't look at me like that, it's not like I thought he was a hippopotamus or an astronaut or anything, I just saw him as *Angel*. He was what he was. He'd done stuff, yeah - but that didn't bother me, apart from the whole 'dozens of girls like that' thing.   
  
What I'm trying to say is that the vampire thing was never my problem. Admittedly I felt some initial discomfort when I first discovered his 'true nature', but I quickly got over it, and things were, for me, full steam ahead on the Buffy-and-Angel-mobile. I just wanted him around. The only reason his vampiric nature ever bothered me, was when it bothered him.   
  
Angel was constantly trying to protect me from himself, because he was afraid - //I can't understand why you'd love me, Buffy! I'm a monster!// - that I'd be tainted by what I saw inside him, that just sharing his pain would somehow make me hurt in ways I couldn't handle. He was afraid that one day he'd look into my eyes, and all I'd hold for him would be loathing and disgust... and I don't know what he was worried about, because all I ever found inside his soul was strength.   
  
I found strength in him that day, after we defeated yet another foe together. I'd been lonely, and down - my relationship with Riley felt incredibly hollow, not that I told Angel that - and he filled me with faith and hope once more, something I'd been lacking for a long time.   
  
"I dunno, it's just - " I sighed, looking at him, letting my eyes run over the gash across his forehead, "I try to look at the big picture, and then I realise that I don't have one... I have one of those tiny little folk art pictures, or a square of a mosaic or something. I'll fight, and then I'll die...and that makes me feel less like fighting, in which case I'll definitely die, cos it's all like, 'Hey, bitch! Throw a punch!' 'No!' 'Okay, I'll kill you anyway!' and then there's generally lots of beating up on Buffy."   
  
I said all that on pretty much one breath, and by the end it was pretty much a 'waiting to exhale' deal.   
  
Angel looked hesitant for a minute, and then he reached out and took my hand, squeezing it, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss, which sent shivers of desire down my spine. God, I missed the feeling of his body pressed up against mine...   
  
He squeezed my hand again. "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you'll never die, Buffy, no matter how much I hate the prospect of a world without you in it." His eyes flickered away from mine for a minute, but then we locked gazes again, and it was like coming home. "You will die one day. Maybe soon. You're human, and you're the Slayer. It's inevitable."   
  
I glared at him half-heartedly. "The key word in 'pep talk' is 'pep', you know. This is not 'pep'."   
  
Ignoring me, he continued, "What I will tell you is that the whole world is your big picture. You will live on because the world will still turn; your legacy is the sun, and the stars, and the moon...It's every beating heart, and every drop of laughter. You're fighting for something that will be preserved for millennia after your death. It's all here because you fought for it."   
  
A tear tracked down my cheek, and he gently wiped it away. I sniffled. "Y'know, I'd settle for you and me and a big bed and maybe a choc-caramel sundae, but okay..."   
  
He laughed, and kissed my brow. We were both very aware that when night fell, we'd be separated once more.   
  
"Angel?" I asked him a moment later, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He turned to look at me, something I didn't quite recognise in his eyes. "Will you still love me when I'm a decaying corpse?"  
  
He brushed a piece of my hair out of my eyes. "I'll always love you." 


	9. Chapter Nine

Part Nine - Interlude  
  
*/*Angel*/*  
  
If I could have killed Brendan right then without arousing suspicion, I would have. I'd have torn him limb from limb and left his genitals lying around in artful disarray. It was disgusting the way he was flirting with her. Blatant sexual advances, like 'I hear Californian Girls are the most fun.' and 'Yeah, I like to exercise,' and 'So, whereabouts in California are you from?'.  
  
Okay, maybe it was just the way he said them. Maybe I wasn't completely over her. I mean, how could I be? The way she smiled, the way she laughed. Long silky hair in a constantly changing shade of blonde. The way she moved, and spoke, and looked at me with those big green-grey-blue-brown eyes, twinkling mischievously as she tried to get a reaction, any reaction out of me.  
  
Guess that explains *that* shirt. I know she was watching me when I read it, and I know she was probably disappointed by my lack of reaction, but what could I say? What could I do? It's not as if I could have jumped up in a room full of my friends and accused her of being cold and unfeeling about my visit with Hades. I mean, they'd all look at me as if I was nuts. People today don't *believe* in Hell. It's just a fairytale told to the world to try and make them behave. It's a form of psychological control and domination. Not a real place where tortured souls scream and cry and call out for loved ones that abandoned them long ago. Even if I could yell at Buffy, and accuse her of such things, in front of my friends, I wouldn't, because I know she does care. I know she had nightmares about killing me, and I know that it was one of the most despairing moments of her life. I know that she might as well have been in Hell right alongside me. No, she wore the shirt to see if *I* still cared... about Hell, and about the Hellmouth, and about *her*. Of course I did. I cared. I'll always care, she'll always be there in my heart, but our time has passed. It was time to move on.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
*^*^*  
/end of interlude/  
  
Apparently, I'd chosen one of the worst possible times to run to Angel for refuge. God, it was bad enough, staying in a house with Angel and Sam, his lover, his *fiance*, without any added complications.  
  
Sam's family was coming to stay. I was assured that there would be plenty of room anyway - Angel and Sam lived in a fairly large house - and that I wasn't to even *consider* going to stay in a hotel room. Sam simply *would not* allow it. I didn't know how to handle it. This had gone from very simple, very familiar without-Angel-heartbreak, to I'm-completely-out-of-place-here anxiety. Not that I wasn't familiar with being the odd one out - 'One girl in the world' and all that. You know those hopes and dreams I mentioned earlier? The ones that I could still let burn within my heart because there was no proof that things would happen otherwise? Well, those little flames were dying out. I'm just going to say it: Angel wasn't mine any more.  
  
Oh, god, now I think I'm going to be sick. I react really physically, y'know? A large part of me wanted to just curl up and die right on Angel's floor, and the other part of me wanted to kick something's ass. Something really happy and beautiful and magical. Like, a unicorn, or a fairy.  
  
Yeah, that would have felt real good. Sam went to pick them up from the airport that night, leaving Angel and I at home. Alone. There was a moment of awkward silence as Sam walked out the door, and I then I chuckled. "What's so funny?" Angel asked me, relaxing a little. "Us! This!" I giggled, "We used to tell each other pretty much everything. You've seen me at my worst make-up-less moments. You've drunk my blood! And here we are, unable to even make conversation. We're pathetic." He laughed too, and it sounded wonderful. "We're not pathetic, we're...complicated."  
  
"Yeah," I said, but we both kept laughing.  
  
I still can't pinpoint the exact moment that my laughter turned to tears. Angel caught my eyes, caught the tears rolling down my cheeks that were clearly not of mirth, and stopped laughing immediately. "Buffy?" he said softly, in that tone he always used to use with me. "It's nothing. I'm fine... Just...this is a lot, Angel." I wiped at my eyes. "I - I shouldn't have come here."  
  
I started to walk away, but he caught me by the arm and pulled me into a hug. I can't express in words how amazing it felt to have his body pressed up against mine so tightly. Angel just stood there, holding me, neither of us saying a word. There was nothing to say, really.  
  
After a while, we parted, looking into each other's eyes in that intense way we have before releasing each other completely. We went to dinner, and the hug wasn't mentioned again. Some things are just too hard to talk about. 


End file.
